


The Legend of Greystone Manor

by lavieboheme0919



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Gods & Goddesses, Alternate Universe - Magic, Alternate Universe - Wizards, Based on a dream I had, Deities, Game of Thrones-esque, Good Peter, King Stiles Stilinski, M/M, Magic-Users, Magical Peter Hale, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Murder, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Peter isn't a douche, Revenge, Some Sword of Truth influences, Versatile Stiles/Peter, Wizards, future Sterek, wolf - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-27
Updated: 2015-02-26
Packaged: 2018-02-27 03:59:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2678195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lavieboheme0919/pseuds/lavieboheme0919
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In an ancient time when magic was stifled at a terrible cost. Stiles' use of his magic has left a trail of bodies and Peter has finally rescued him. They live together, work together, and love together. But Stiles has a much larger destiny ahead of him and Peter knows that his time with his young love is fleeting. Will he be strong enough to do what is best for Stiles when the time comes?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. True Natures

The forest was dense surrounding Greystone Manor. It always was. The sky was cloudy and although there was no smoke to be found, the unmistakable odor of cinders lingered in the air, nearly choking Stiles as he walked down the path. It was unseasonably cold and Stiles gripped tightly at the cloak that was supposed to banish the chill nipping at his extremities. He had never been here before, but he knew this path like he knew his own name.

Greystone Manor was an old building. Nobody could remember who built it or when. Nobody even understood why it was referred to as a “manor”. It was gargantuan. It had its own battlements and was heavily fortified. It was a veritable castle tucked away in the middle of nowhere in the Beacon Wood. The air was silent. Not even birds or insects could be heard. It was unnerving. Stiles could hear his own heartbeat. He was afraid. Something had to be amiss. The world was never _this_ quiet unless something was horribly, terribly not right.

As Stiles approached the moat that surrounded Greystone, he saw the drawbridge was not lowered. He hated the thought of having trekked this entire path for nothing, yet as he got closer, he could see that the drawbridge was slowly coming down. He hesitantly crossed it, looking down. The river beneath him had taken millennia to carve out the gorge. Stiles wondered how the architect of Greystone had ever managed to cross it.

Upon further inspection, he realized that the river was somehow wrong. It was the least-correct river that Stiles had ever laid eyes on. Certainly it was there. He could see it at least a mile below him. But rivers were supposed to flow and move. The rivers in this land were known to be swift and dangerous. But that unnamed river stood still, almost like a painting.

Stiles ventured on, trying his best not to be unnerved by the overabundance of unnerving things to be seen around him. The first flakes of snow began their dance toward the ground, causing Stiles to shiver even more. He ran toward the castle doors since he could tell that the snow was going to be hard. He banged on the large metal doors. “Please let me in! It’s starting to snow out here!” he called.

The doors opened with a terrible creak that caused Stiles’ breath to catch in his throat and a pit to form in his stomach. He slowly crept into the spacious entryway. The faint sounds of a crackling fire hit his ear. He figured he could warm up by its light for a while until the snow stopped falling.

As he made his way toward the fireplace, he felt his pulse beginning to rise. The manacles he was forced to wear prevented him from using his magic, but it never quite blocked his ability to sense oncoming danger. There was someone in the castle watching him.

When the fire had banished the chill from his bones, Stiles began to look around. He ran up the grand staircase and began searching for whomever was spying. The longer it took, the more of a sense of urgency he had to find this unknown person. Greystone was so large that it took him hours to finally find the room where the person was hiding. It was the only room in which a fire was still burning, aside from the entrance hall. There was a thick curtain hanging between the door and the fireplace, but the warmth and crackling made Stiles certain the room was occupied. “Who is in here?” he demanded.

“Who is asking?” the voice replied. It sounded young, strong, and combative.

Stiles slowly approached and pulled back the curtains. He gasped at what he saw behind it. Three heavy chains descended from the ceiling. Two of them restrained the man’s arms, holding them high in the air. The third was shackled around the man’s neck in a collar like the one Stiles, himself, once wore. He shuddered the memory away. The man’s raven-colored hair was shaggy and unkempt, but it seemed to only accentuate the beauty of the man beneath it. “Who are you?” Stiles asked timidly. He could see a marking on the man’s back reflected in a mirror that hung above the fireplace. He recognized it instantly as a Triskele. It was a symbol of powerful magic and one that he, himself bore. His manacles covered the Triskeles that had appeared on his wrists when he became old enough to sire children. But the manner in which the symbol had manifested itself on this man told Stiles instantly that he might not have been born with magic, but rather had been affected by _extremely_ powerful sorcery.

The man glared at him. “You’re a Wizard. You should know.”

“I was given the Manacles the moment my powers developed,” Stiles said. “I can’t use my magic unless…” Stiles trailed off, not wanting to name the restraint the Manacles placed on his power.

The man shook his head. “There’s only one thing I need from you, Wizard, in order to regain my freedom.”

“What is it? Nobody should be kept like this…”

The man smiled “I just need you to—”

Stiles awoke with a start. He looked around, he was in his bed. Sweat drenched him. He had the dream every night and it always ended there… right before the shaggy, sexy man told him what he needed in order to free him from his chains. “My love?” he heard Peter gasp bolting upright to ensure his beloved’s safety. “Are you alright?”

Stiles nodded, bringing his hand to his head. He wiped the sleep and sweat from his eyes as he sat up. A quick glance out the window told him that daybreak was upon them and they would need to begin their chores. “Just a bad dream.”

Peter reached out and pulled Stiles close. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“No good can come from discussing dreams,” Stiles grumbled. He never discussed his dreams with Peter because it was always that same one.

“Dreams can carry powerful omens for great Wizards,” Peter countered, kissing Stiles.

Stiles rubbed at the golden objects that surrounded his wrists. “We both know that I’m no powerful Wizard,” Stiles said.

“You could be if you believed in yourself,” Peter told him.

“It’s these damned manacles!” Stiles spat. “I’m never going to be able to use my powers correctly as long as I have them!”

“We’ll get them off of you,” Peter vowed.

“How?” Stiles demanded.

“Because I promised you,” Peter said. “And haven’t I kept every single promise I've made to you?”

He had, but that didn’t solve Stiles’ Manacle problem. The Manacles were enchanted and covered the triskele markings that had appeared on his wrists when he hit puberty. Since the creation of the manacles, puberty no longer marked a joyous time for young Wizards. At that point, they were often captured given these cursed manacles, which made it impossible for the Wizard to use his magic unless they had another man’s seed inside him. As the use of the Manacles became more wide-spread, Wizards would commit suicide when the markings appeared to prevent themselves from being sold into servitude and raped by those who would use their magical powers for personal gain. This led to the creation of the Collars. The Collars were created with the same dark magic as the Manacles but with a more insidious purpose. They worked in tandem with the Manacles and made it so that the Wizard wearing both could only use his magic on behalf of the person who had placed his seed inside him and could never commit suicide.

Stiles had been born into a noble family, but stolen away from them by servants when the triskeles appeared. He had often used magic as a child to make his toys talk or move on their own, but nothing more impressive than that. After being manacled, he was sold to a king. He spent eight years in the collar. During that time he served twelve different men. Each used Stiles’ magic.

Stiles had been taken from a land far distant from the one in which he found himself, and as a child he was told stories from an even more distant land about creatures called Genies. These Genies would grant wishes, but often not in the way the wisher wanted, leading to the person’s doom. Stiles had taken a cue from these Genies and used obvious loopholes in his orders to kill three of his owners and maim seven. He was sold off by the one to prevent injury to life or limb and Peter had rescued him from the last one, incinerating him with magical fire only after forcing him to unlock the Collar. There were only two known ways to remove the manacles. Either the Wizard wearing them died, or there were the keys.

Unfortunately, the keys to the manacles had been lost in time. They had been lost for as long as the Old King had been gone. Some believed it was the Old King who created the manacles, but others believed that he had been cursed for trying to have them destroyed. The only thing that was widely agreed upon was that the keys had disappeared with him and his castle at the height of a lunar eclipse more than a thousand years ago.

Stiles hated the manacles around his wrists. He hated the limits that had been placed on his power. He hated the fact that he always needed to wear over-sized cloaks, no matter how hot it was, to prevent himself from being seen by someone who would steal him, rape him, and use his power. Though without a collar, he had more of an ability to fight back.

“We don’t have to open the shop up today,” Peter reminded him before stealing a kiss. “We can practice all day if you’d like.”

“What’s the point?” Stiles grumbled. “My magic is broken.”

“That’s not true,” Peter countered. “You’re very powerful.”

“Wizards used to be considered gods… They used to command powerful forces. I can barely summon a force blast.”

“Why would people believe in you as a deity if you don’t even believe in yourself?” Peter asked. Stiles frowned. He had no response to that. He wished he could see himself the way Peter saw him. He no longer wanted to talk about it, so he reached down and wrapped his fingers around Peter’s thick cock, feeling it pulse at his touch. “Why have sex if you don’t wish to practice your magic today?” Peter’s voice was breathy as he asked his question. He loved that Stiles always knew how to please him.

“Because maybe I just want to feel you inside me,” Stiles replied.

“Such a romantic,” Peter smirked. He waved his hand between Stiles’ open legs and muttered a few words in the ancient tongue and Stiles instantly felt slick between his legs.

“Show off,” he grunted as Peter pushed into him. Stiles loved the way it felt to have Peter inside him. It turned him on to watch Peter’s muscles move beneath his taut skin. He never felt more secure than when Peter was on top of and inside him.

They had only ever made love in this manner, with Stiles on his back, gazing up into Peter’s eyes as he pounded himself into the younger man. Stiles had made it the one requirement of their physical relationship. The Kings, Lords, and Princes who had taken him in order to use his magic had all forced Stiles to face away, often while enclosed in stocks or chains.

Stiles had been with Peter for more than a year before he finally consented to have sex. It had taken Peter by surprise the first time Stiles had crawled into his bed. Originally the deal had just been so that he could use his magic, but in time, it had come to be much more than that. He had grown to love and trust Peter.

Judging by the way Peter’s speed was increasing, Stiles could tell he was close. Peter’s coarse hands were exploring Stiles’ body as he thrust faster, forcing Stiles to bite his bottom lip to keep from screaming his pleasure to the surrounding houses. “Are you ready?” Peter asked.

“I’m always ready,” Stiles replied.

Peter’s hand travelled down, grasping Stiles’ own manhood and began pumping it furiously. It didn’t take long for Stiles to begin bucking and shooting his seed. Peter released Stiles and made six more hard thrusts before emptying himself into Stiles who immediately felt his magic begin coursing through his body he loved that sensation almost as much as the orgasm he had experienced. He only wished he could actually _do something_ when he felt his magic.

Peter stayed inside him for a few moments. “Shall I make the barrier?” he asked, referring to a magical barrier he often used to keep his seed inside Stiles and permit him longer use of his magic.

“You’re set on me practicing my magic today, aren’t you?” Stiles grumbled.

“I am,” Peter replied with a smug grin.

Stiles rolled his eyes in a way that told Peter he had won this match so again he waved his hand between Stiles’ legs and muttered something inaudible before Stiles felt the strange filled sensation that told him the spell was in place.

Peter kissed his young lover deeply before saying, “Let’s break our fast. You’re going to need your energy.”

Peter prepared a modest breakfast of eggs, bread, and hard cheese. The two of them ate in relative silence before they moved outside. Peter didn’t quite trust Stiles’ magic not to destroy the home they had built for themselves. “Have you figured out which of the gods you take after?” he asked Stiles.

“If I had, you’d know by now, my love,” Stiles replied. He glanced over and saw the large ginger cat he had named “Sir Nubbins.” He had so named the cat because of the stumpy nub of a tail it had, that had likely gotten caught in a door when the cat was just a kitten. Peter had allowed Stiles to keep it as a pet because its noble but stubborn nature seemed to make it a perfect match for the young man. “Go inside!” he ordered it, pointing at the small house. The cat glared at him before trotting inside as if he were above the company he had just received.

Peter watched them in amusement. “Have you ever considered which god you take after?” he asked. “That cat listens to nobody but you.”

“That cat knows who feeds him,” Stiles replied. “For that, he’s wise to listen to me.” Stiles realized he had never asked Peter which god he took after. He decided to ask.

“The Shepherd,” Peter answered.

“You’ve never made me do anything,” Stiles said confrontationally.

“Because I vowed never to use that part of my magic on you,” Peter said softly.

“I don’t remember such a vow,” Stiles contested.

“Because I made that vow to someone of a slightly higher rank than you,” Peter replied.

“Who, then?” Stiles asked.

“The Confessor,” Peter said.

“Is that another one of your gods?” Stiles asked, causing Peter to huff. “What? I grew up with different gods. How am I supposed to know all of yours? Much less take after one?”

“Because I’ve been trying to teach you about them for longer than  we’ve shared a bed,” Peter snapped. “I swear… it’s like you care nothing of what comes out of my mouth so long as your cock gets to go into it!"

“Now you’re saying something I can understand,” Stiles flashed his smile, but Peter didn’t return it. He glared angrily. “Come on… that was a joke.”

“If you’re not going to take this seriously, then you’ll never master your magic with or without the Manacles,” Peter said. “All magic flows from the ancient gods. You _must_ learn them and you _must_ figure out which you take after.”

“I don’t believe in the ancient gods,” Stiles said. “Where were they when I was held in the dungeon of the King of Colar and put in stocks while he took me against my will and before his seed fell from me, forced me to use my magic to start a war that slaughtered thousands? Where were they when the Prince of Lyth fucked me until I bled before making me use my magic to slaughter all three cadet lines to his throne?”

“Your gods didn’t protect you either,” Peter pointed out.

“No,” Stiles agreed. “They didn’t. But you did. The only god I’ll believe in is you. My magic comes after I’ve taken you inside me. You’re the only one who has acted in my best interests since I was stolen from my parents.”

Peter forced his eyes not to well up. “Do you really think so highly of me?”

“Of course,” Stiles replied. “I love you.”

Peter found it hard not to smile after that. He steadied himself and ordered Stiles to do the same. He at least wanted Stiles to master the best defensive weapon a wizard had. He needed at least that skill in order for his plan to work. He conjured two dummy enemies from thin air. “Focus your magic to your hands and use it to push them back,” Peter said.

Stiles closed his eyes and tried. The result made a noise like thunder in the air and the dummies Peter created were knocked back nearly a foot. “I did it!” Stiles exclaimed.

“You can do better,” Peter said. “Really push them. If possible, destroy them. It is better to kill your enemy in one shot than to give him a second chance at your life.”

Stiles tried again, this time choosing to focus all of the energy on just one of the dummies. It was blasted into several pieces. “Ha!” Stiles said triumphantly.

“And you’re still a dead man. The other enemy would have killed you,” Peter said. He conjured a replacement for the one Stiles destroyed. “I can assure you that mourning clothes do not flatter me. Do it again, but this time… do it to both.”

They tried for hours until Stiles was exhausted. He hadn’t managed to deliver a lethal blow in the entire time they practiced. “No more, please,” Stiles pleaded.

“You did well,” Peter said, closing the distance between them and kissing him. “Let’s go to a pub and celebrate. That is the first real display of your magic you’ve ever shown me.”

Stiles looked up into Peter’s eyes. “Show me what The Shepherd’s magic is like,” he said.

“A vow made to The Confessor is absolute. To break it would mean that my eternal soul would end up in the Icy Sea. There would be no redemption for me,” Peter said.

“But what if you didn’t break the spirit of the vow. You promised not to use it against me to hurt me. What if instead, it was to teach me… to show me how to use a power that I might already possess?” Stiles said.

“Your words are like a fox’s,” Peter warned. “It’s best not to tempt the gods in such a way.”

“Please, Peter…” Stiles begged.

“No,” Peter said. “If you want I can show you… but on someone else.”

“I want to know what it feels like,” Stiles pouted.

“You’ve had your free will taken from you before. I won’t do it again,” Peter said. “That’s the last I’ll hear of it.”

Stiles was unaccustomed to hearing “no” from him. He hated how it felt to be denied and wore it quite visibly on his face. The pouting lip did nothing to shake Peter’s resolve. Stiles put on the large cloak that ensured his manacles were well-covered and followed Peter on the short trek to a nearby pub that they both enjoyed.

“Good eve’nin, loves,” said a plump brunette woman as they walked in. She didn’t need to ask what they wanted. She knew. She brought two flagons of dark, amber ale and placed them in front of them.

“What’s that?” Stiles asked, eyeing it suspiciously.

“I’m sorry m’dear,” she said. “That useless wretch of a girl spilled all of the milk. I’m afraid you’re going to have to drink the same as your master tonight.”

“I’m not a slave,” Stiles spat with the bitter indignation that could only come from a person who once had been one.

“I didn’t mean to imply you were,” she said cautiously. “Just merely that you’re his apprentice, so he’s the master you study under.”

“It’s just been a hard day,” Peter said diplomatically, resorting to their cover story that Peter was an apothecary and Stiles was apprenticing under him. “My young ward has forgotten his manners, it seems. I apologize on his behalf.” When she had walked away, Peter scolded him. “Just because _you’re_  now in a foul mood doesn’t mean everyone else around you needs to be!”

“I’m sorry,” Stiles muttered, feeling his face and ears reddening. “It was just the word ‘master’. It got to me.”

“Then let’s occupy your mind with something else,” Peter replied. “What are the basic rules of magic?”

Stiles glared. He hated Peter’s random quizzes. “Rule 1: All that is dead must remain that way. Rule 2: All that has past is unchangeable. Rule 3: Magic cannot move something out of existence. Rule 4: To steal the magic of another is the highest sin a Wizard can commit. And Rule 5: Magic is a gift from the gods. Those who wield it to act in the service of the gods and shall be rewarded. Those who use it to act in the service of oneself render their souls forfeit and upon dying shall suffer in the Icy Sea for the endless expanses of time,” he recited with a voice as bland as the thick swill in the cup before him.

“It is said the Wizards who created the Manacles and Collars were brought straight to the Icy Sea to spend eternity in its freezing depths the moment their deeds were done,” Peter said.

It was a story that had been handed down, much like the legend of the Old King. Few, if anyone, believed it to be true. Stiles imagined that the more accurate story was that the wizards were killed to ensure that they would not feel remorse and undo the harm they had done by creating the Manacles and Collars. It was an act of political expediency in his eyes, not divine retribution. But Stiles had only voiced that opinion once and Peter had grown so angry at him that Stiles vowed never to utter those words again. Peter had spent days enraged at the callous manner in which Stiles took the legends of their kind. “These stories are meant to teach us,” Peter had said. “To ensure that we learn from the mistakes of the Wizards who came before us and that we never repeat their actions.”

“Why am I getting a repeat of these lessons?” Stiles asked moodily.

“Because you seem to keep forgetting them,” Peter replied.

“These legends do me no good when I don’t have access to my magic for the majority of the time,” Stiles grumbled.

“Why are you in such a bad mood? We had a great day…”

“No. _You_ had a great day. I’m exhausted from the hours spent trying to push back a magically-conjured dummy and not getting any closer to mastering it, meanwhile I could have been taught actually useful spells,” Stiles said before choking down another sip of the thick ale. “Sometimes I wish I could just return to the place I was taken from and inherit the crown I was meant to and my magic be damned.”

Peter narrowed his eyes. “For the last time, Stiles… your magic is a gift from the gods!”

“Then why has it brought me nothing but pain? Your gods can be damned too!” Stiles shouted more loudly than he had meant to.

“Mind. Your. Voice.” Peter’s order sounded lethal as it rolled from his tongue.

“I’m sorry,” Stiles said quickly, but left no room for Peter to sound off with another nugget of unsolicited wisdom. He lowered his voice so that only Peter could hear it. “Because of my magic, I was abducted from my bed, taken to a land I don’t know, manacled, collared, raped for 8 years, and forced to use my magic to commit awful deeds. How is any of that a blessing?”

Peter stood up and tossed a few gold coins on the table. “I’ll see you at home,” he said, wiping his mouth with the rough cloth napkin and then threw it, not waiting for his food.

Realizing how angry he had made Peter killed Stiles’ appetite, too. He didn’t race after his love, though. He knew Peter well enough to know that he needed space. Instead, he headed in the opposite direction. He hated the small town they lived in, but he loved the giant hill nearby. On clear nights, he could see the glow of the Silverkeep off in the distance. He didn’t know much about the realm in which he found himself, but Peter often told him that the less he knew, the better. He _did_ , however, know that they followed the same religion he had been raised with: The Communion of the Three Divines. He looked up at the sky. He could see some of the brighter stars beginning to shine as the sun fell behind the Gray Mountains. He didn’t even know which direction he hailed from. He turned around and saw his village begin preparing for the night.

He was filled with so much hate. He could still feel his magic so he held his hands out in front of him, closing his fingers and then quickly opening them. Force blasts much stronger than the ones he had attempted before rippled out, causing the air to shimmer slightly. Stiles knew the caliber of magic he was capable of performing. It was the magic he had done on the kings and princes he had served. With no training, he had been able create multi-layered spells with curses built into them. While he was alone and angry, he could perform whatever magic he wanted. But the moment Peter was in front of him, it was as if he had no magic whatsoever.

A cold wind began blowing through the hills and Stiles clutched his cloak tighter around him. He considered heading back, but he wasn’t sure that Peter would want to see him yet. “The tracker wind led me here,” Peter’s voice called as the wind died down.

“Hi,” Stiles said softly. “I figured you might want some distance.”

“I was angry,” Peter admitted. “But I love you too much to be parted from you for long.”

“I’m sorry,” Stiles breathed.

“I watched the magic you performed,” Peter confessed. “It was breathtaking.”

“Not this again, Peter…”

“Let me finish,” Peter said. “You have every right to be angry at the world and the gods. Your innocence and your youth were ripped away from you alongside your throne and your destiny. In another time, you would have been approached by trained wizards and brought to the Stormfort Citadel to master your magic and then served the gods as a force of justice and power to help maintain balance in this world. You could have resumed your role on your parents’ throne, or traveled the world, whichever you desired.”

“But that’s not the time we find ourselves in!” Stiles blurted.

“You’re right, it’s not, but I’ve been doing my best to ensure that you get the training you need and to try and find you a suitable throne to keep up my end of the bargain I made you when I rescued you,” Peter said. “I can’t restore you to your parents’ throne, but as it turns out, there are some interesting rumors about King Gerard’s hold over the Silverkeep.”

“How could I possibly rule the Silverkeep?” Stiles asked. “I have no claim to that throne.”

“Do you know why it is called the Crimson Throne?”

“Because it’s red?”

Peter chuckled heartily. “No. It’s silver, just like most everything else in the Keep. It’s called ‘the Crimson Throne’ because for the first several thousand years of its existence, it only passed from one person to another through murder. The House of Argent has only managed to stay seated for a thousand years because of the immense spy network they use and the absolutely brutal way they deal with anyone who attempts to overthrow them.”

“The same brutal method I would need to employ in order to keep that throne,” Stiles said skeptically.

Peter wrapped his arm around Stiles. “Not necessarily. Nobody who has ever sat on the Crimson Throne has ever had magic. King Gerard is so fearful of magic he slaughtered every Wizard in his territory. The only reason we’ve survived here for so long is that I’ve killed every person who has ever seen your manacles.”

Stiles’ eyes widened. He had no idea. “How? I would have seen you…”

“I’m the apothecary, remember?” Peter said. “They were dead before they even realized what they saw. There are some poisons that work quicker than any magic.”

“Isn’t murder an affront to your gods?” Stiles asked, trying to hide the horror he felt.

“Not if it’s justified… I killed to protect you from the fate you would undoubtedly face at the hands of anyone who would use your magic for their own gain,” Peter said.

Stiles moved to head back to their home but Peter stopped him. “It’s late. We need to get some sleep,” Stiles insisted.

“You’re not afraid of me, are you?” Peter asked.

“Honestly,” Stiles breathed. “A little.”

Peter caressed the side of Stiles’ face. “Don’t be, my love. You are the only one who does not need to fear me.”

“Do you promise? 

“I swear to The Confessor,” Peter whispered.

* * *

 For seven moons, Peter made Stiles practice his magic as much and as hard as he could. It was only when Stiles focused on his rage that he was able to perform the feats he had been capable of while in captivity. One night after closing the doors of the apothecary Peter pulled stiles into a tight hug and kissed him deeply. “It’s nearly time, my love.”

“Time for what?”

“Time for you to get your throne,” Peter replied. “The King’s personal apothecary has fallen deathly ill.” The smile on his face when he said that told Stiles that Peter had poisoned the King’s apothecary. “He wishes for all of the apothecaries in the kingdom to present themselves so that he might choose a replacement.”

“And then what?”

“And then we’ll kill the King and place you on the throne.”

“What if we get killed?”

“Have you no faith in me?” Peter asked.

“Of course I have faith in you!” Stiles exclaimed.

“Then all we need now is for you to figure out which of the old gods you take after,” Peter said.

“Is it possible that I don’t take after any?” Stiles asked.

“It is not.”

Stiles huffed unhelpfully. He had mastered many different spells, but had no clue as to which god he might be able to draw power from. “Let’s figure that out later.”

Peter shook his head. “You have to know before we face the Argents.”

Stiles glared at him. “Why is it that I can’t shake the feeling that you know which god I take after and you refuse to tell me.”

“Probably because you’re correct in that assumption,” Peter replied.

Stiles pushed him angrily. “Then who is it?” he demanded. “And why have you been playing this game with me?”

“If I were permitted to tell you, I would have!” Peter yelled back, returning the shove more powerfully. Stiles was instantly filled with regret for the violent way he had lashed out. “You’ll do well trust that I always act with your best intentions… even when they are not what is best for me.”

“I’m sorry,” Stiles stammered. “So how do I figure it out? I know which gods permit which power… but I’ve never shown any of them…”

“Because you’ve never believed you could,” Peter said. “This power has not been taught to manacled Wizards in living memory because it is the one power you do not need another’s seed to utilize.”

“So you can’t tell me exactly… can you tell me if I guess correctly?” Stiles asked.

“Only if you figure it out through logic and not random guessing,” Peter replied, his body language relaxing upon seeing that Stiles was no longer angry.

Stiles averted his eyes, trying to think it through. “Have you ever seen me use this power?”

“A few times I’ve thought so, but you would know if you were using it,” Peter replied.

“Can a person use their power on a Wizard who takes after the same god?”

“Yes.”

“I’m going to guess The Storm. He’s the god of caprice and tumult… and it could explain why I’m rarely able to focus on anything,” Stiles reasoned. This god would have also given him domain over wind.

Peter shook his head. “At first, I thought the same thing for the same reason, but alas… no.”

Stiles frowned. He was not wise enough take after The Confessor and he highly doubted he carried any of the elemental powers granted by The Inferno, The Fountain, and The Mountain. “Then it has to be The Healer,” Stiles reasoned.

“Why do you say that?” Peter asked, not giving one way or another as to whether or not Stiles was correct.

“That’s the only other one it could be,” Stiles said exasperatedly.

“Not quite,” Peter said softly. He felt as though he was emblazoning the answer on the hillside.

Stiles’ eyebrows furrowed as the realization struck him. He bit his lip before looking up at Peter. “No…” he said. “I would have been able to make them stop when they…”

“You did. Just not in the way you intended,” Peter said. “When they were using your body, at first you wished they were dead… and they died. But then, death didn’t seem like a good enough fate. You wanted them to live with a permanent reminder of the evil they did to you. I don’t blame you. They deserved it and worse.”

“How do I use it?” Stiles asked after several moments of silence passed between them.

Peter placed his hand at Stiles’ throat, causing his young lover to tense. “The Shepherd's magic requires only a touch.”

“Is it permanent?”

“It can be. For instance I could command you to follow my every order from now on and you would have no choice,” Peter said. “It would be as simple as that.” Peter let his hand fall from Stiles’ neck and quickly placed his lover’s hand against his own face. “Here’s the catch… The power won’t work on anyone who would already do whatever you ask.”

“So I have no effect on you?” Stiles asked.

“I never said that…”

Then Stiles realized. Peter refused to use The Shepherd's power on him because if what he was saying was true, then if Peter was even capable of using his power, he would face a truth he wasn’t able to deal with. Peter often chastised him for a lack of tact and Stiles knew it would be incredibly tactless to name his realization. So instead, he leaned up and kissed him.


	2. The Love of Siblings

Stiles had complained nearly constantly for the entire trip to the Stormfort Citadel. He didn’t understand why they even needed to go there. “There are a few things that you can only learn at the Citadel, Stiles. It would be dangerous to practice them here,” Peter told him. “The Citadel is just over this ridge.”

The fog had been so thick that Stiles didn’t know how Peter could navigate in it. His legs and back were sore from riding horses for so long but he knew that Peter’s patience was already running thin and didn’t want to test it any further with his complaints. Stiles realized that if he concentrated hard, the woods they were riding through seemed vaguely familiar. But there was a fog on his memory more dense than the one in this wood. The sound of thunder boomed overhead causing his horse to startle. “Woah!” Stiles called, trying to get the horse back under control. “We should make camp for the night. It’s dangerous to continue riding with the storm coming.”

“The storm is the reason for the citadel’s name. Long ago, powerful wizards who took after The Storm placed an enchantment on the castle that would make it truly horrible to behold. Humans are so weak-minded that way. It scares off any would-be attackers. In the 10,000 years the Citadel is said to have existed, it has never been taken,” Peter said. “The closer we get, the magic of the castle should recognize us as wizards and the enchantments will abate. If we were human, the storm would become stronger until it killed us. It’s just an hour’s ride. We should make it just after nightfall.”

Stiles’ stomach growled and he placed his hand on it. “Will we make it in time for dinner?”

Peter chuckled. “Yes,” he replied simply.

Stiles watched the way Peter’s body moved on the horse, spurring his to trot just behind Peter’s so he could continue admiring his view. It made the time pass much more quickly and soon, they found themselves at a drawbridge.

A man with a sword stood in the center. “Go no further!” he ordered. His hair was cropped short and blacker than any raven Stiles had ever seen.

Peter looked back at Stiles and put up a hand, indicating him to stay still. “Let me take care of this,” he said as he dismounted his horse. “I have a friend inside these walls with skin as fair as the moon.”

“The clouds obscure the light of the moon. How can you be sure?” the man replied.

“Faith in the gods will ensure a beacon through any darkness,” Peter said.

The man smiled “It’s good to see you again, Peter,” he said, laying down his sword and embracing the wizard.

“It’s good to see you too, old friend,” Peter replied before stepping away and remounting his horse.

Stiles followed as the man returned to his vigil. “What was that all about?” Stiles asked.

“It’s a code we use to verify identity. Magic can be used for many things… including disguise,” Peter replied as they rode under the portcullis. Men were there to greet him and help him off his horse. They promised to take good care of the horses, but Stiles wondered whether or not being in this place would change how Peter interacted with him.

Stiles followed closely behind Peter, needing to feel him for comfort and strength, though his need for proximity to Peter was weakened by the smell of ham, cooked greens, sweet bread, fruits, and cake. His mouth watered and his stomach gurgled impatiently. “Where’s the food?” Stiles whispered.

“Just through here,” Peter said before pausing. He held Stiles’ shoulders. “But first… you need to know that despite what some may try to tell you, we are only here until you master a few abilities.”

A woman turned the corner. She was tall, with long flowing dark hair. Her wrists were decorated with golden bracelets that jingled as she moved and a belt made of large gold medallions hung crookedly at her hip. “And abridge a young wizard’s training? Especially one from your own order?”

“Order?” Stiles asked.

“You and I both take after the same god, so we are of the same order,” Peter explained. He then turned to the woman. “It’s lovely to see you, Talia.”

“It’s lovely to see you too, sister,” Peter replied.

“Sister… but magic is rare… it scarcely ever happens to two people in the same family,” Stiles said, his confusion written across his face.

“The Hale family has always carried magic. It has been our sacred duty to find and instruct those who have the gift,” Talia told him. “Since the creation of the manacles, we’ve made it our mission to ensure that wizards are freed from them.”

“You have the keys?” Stiles asked hopefully.

Talia’s face sunk. “No, my child. But we believe that someone will find them. And until then, we do our best to ensure that young wizards are kept away from those who would manacle them. I’m just sorry Peter wasn’t able to get to you in time.”

“He’s kept me safe since he found me,” Stiles assured her. “He’s instructed me a bit in some defensive magic.”

“You wear the manacles,” she said. “How, pray tell, did you manage to use magic?”

“I think you know,” Stiles replied hotly.

Her eyes moved between him and Peter with the same disapproving glare that Stiles received from his mother the day that she discovered he had broken a priceless family heirloom while chasing a servant boy through the castle during a game of hide-and-seek. She raised her eyebrow before turning on her heels and walking off. “Dinner is ready in the dining hall. Your studies begin first thing in the morning.”

When they took their seats at a long table piled high with food, Stiles nearly fainted. It seemed as though every one of his favorite dishes had been prepared for them. He feasted until he was certain he would burst. It wasn’t until Peter pulled him away from the food that Stiles finally stopped eating.

Peter led him through the castle, their steps echoing in the large halls. He saw only a few other people, but they all wore a rich blue cloak with the hood pulled up, so Stiles wasn’t able to see who they were. When they were finally in the privacy of a bedroom, Stiles finally spoke. “Are you going to be my teacher?”

“I get the feeling that Talia is going to do everything she can to ensure that you and I stay far apart,” Peter said.

“I won’t allow it,” Stiles replied, peeling off his clothes and climbing into the bed. Peter did the same and Stiles snuggled close to him.

That night, the dream was more vivid than it had ever been.

He made his way to the castle easily, and straight to the room where he knew the man to be, not taking the stop to warm himself by the fire. “How do I help you?” he asked the man, wanting to know the answer before he woke up.

“I can’t tell you, I’m sorry. You must do it correctly. The sequence of events must always be honored. You cannot get what you want in life by rushing things, Stiles,” the man said. “You must try again. I’m sorry.”

Stiles woke from the dream with a start, but it was still dark outside. Peter woke up too. “Are you alright?” he asked.

“Yeah… Sorry to wake you,” he said.

“No worries. Do you need me to ease your mind so you might sleep better?” Peter asked.

“If you’d like,” Stiles replied, lacking the enthusiasm he usually held.

“We haven’t had sex since we left our home a fortnight ago,” Peter replied. “You probably just need some release.” He pulled off the covers and moved his face down to Stiles’ cock. They had washed several times when their journey took them near bodies of water, but the last time had been several days ago so Stiles smelled somewhat ripe, but Peter didn’t mind. He carefully took Stiles’ member into his mouth and began suck and licking its length as Stiles moaned his approval.

“Let me do you when you’re done,” Stiles said.

Peter licked his way up Stiles’ torso and kissed his lover on the lips. “I intended to,” he said breathily before moving back and resuming his task as Stiles continued to grunt and moan in his pleasure. He struggled to keep his final cries of ecstasy muffled when he finally spilled his seed into Peter’s mouth. Peter swallowed it down, but quickly flipped them over. He rested his hands behind his head as Stiles returned the favor.

“Warn me before you come,” Stiles asked him. “My nightmares are worse when your seed is activating my magic.”

“I swallowed you…” Peter pouted.

“And you don’t wear manacles!” Stiles countered. “So either you agree to warn me or you take care of it yourself!”

“I was just kidding,” Peter said.

Stiles glared at him, though in the blackness of night, Peter didn’t see it. He opened his mouth and engulfed Peter as he had done so many times before. He used his tongue to make love to Peter’s cock. It was Peter’s turn to moan and grunt and gasp. His fingers raked through Stiles’ hair, but he was careful not to push Stiles further down. Stiles hated it when he did that. Ten minutes passed with Peter’s cock in the hot, wet recesses of Stiles’ mouth and throat and he was ready. He pulled Stiles off of him and reached down, grasping his length and finishing the job, spraying his belly and chest with own seed. He reached over, grabbing his shirt and wiped it away.

Stiles moved back beside Peter, resting his head on Peter’s chest. “I love you,” he whispered.

“I love you too,” Peter replied.

* * *

 

Stiles and Peter bathed separately the next morning. Stiles went to the dining hall to break his fast but Peter was summoned to his sister’s apartment in the tallest tower of the castle. She was wearing an emerald gown that seemed to accentuate every single beautiful feature she possessed. “Aren’t you a vision, my sister,” Peter said.

She eyed him suspiciously, not saying a word as she pulled a book from the vast wall that lined her office and circled around, sitting at the large oak desk. She flipped casually through the tome. After several more minutes passed in silence, Peter finally broke it. “As riveting as I’m sure that book must be, unless you read aloud, I fear only one of us may enjoy its contents at a time. I’m also quite hungry and would like to start Stiles’ lessons as soon as I can.”

“I’m trying to decide,” Talia said.

“Decide what, pray tell?” Peter asked.

“Whether you are singularly the most arrogant man who has ever existed… or the stupidest,” Talia replied bluntly.

“Is there a third option?” Peter asked.

“You are the Acolyte of your order. You were supposed to find him and bring him straight here!” she scolded. “Instead, you went venturing throughout the lands fucking him all along the way! What is wrong with you, Peter?”

“You know as well as I that bringing him here before he was ready would have been a waste of everybody’s time. It was little more than a fortnight ago that I got him to finally admit which god he takes after. I’ve done my best to help him. You know what the price of the manacles is. You know what the only way for him to use his powers was. I won’t deny that I enjoyed it. Nor will I deny that I love him.”

“You know what the prophecy says as well as I, or do I need to repeat it to you?” she yelled, thrusting the book toward him. “Never in a thousand years has a prophecy been so clear. It names you both specifically! You have put everyone in danger with your reckless incompetence! I should strip you of your magic for this!”

Peter jumped to his feet, putting his hand up, ready to use his power. “I’ll have you under my control before you can even remember the incantation, Talia. Do not test me!”

Talia seemed almost amused by his actions. “Have you forgotten what happened the last time you tried to use The Shepherd’s magic on me? You will do well to remember that I am the Acolyte of The Confessor. I am the leader of _all_ magical orders. I will oversee the training of our young Shepherd from now on.”

“And how do you expect to overcome the little problem of the manacles?” Peter asked. “The last I knew, you had no cock.”

“Must you always be so vulgar?” Talia chastised. She reached beneath her desk and pulled out a box made of rowan. She opened the box, revealing a collar ornately decorated with a combination of runes and spells. “I’ve been saving this for him. It is the only of its kind. Three wizards sacrificed their magic to ensure that Stiles would be able to do what he is destined to do. If you haven’t already interfered too much, that is.”

“The prophecy says that the young Shepherd will be betrayed by the older. How do you know that I haven’t already fulfilled the prophecy by keeping him away from the Stormfort?” Peter asked.

“Because I know you, Peter. And I know what he is destined for and I know that it will tear you apart,” Talia said.

“So suddenly this has become about how you wish to protect me?” Peter tried to clarify.

“Not even the gods could protect you from yourself, Peter. I just pray that you don’t ruin his life or his destiny in the process,” Talia said. “You’re dismissed. And you’re dismissed from his care.”

“Not even death will keep me from him, Talia. This I vow to The Confessor,” Peter said before leaving.

He found Stiles in the dining hall. Stiles was nearly done with his breakfast. Peter barely had time to eat several slices of toasted bread, smeared with butter and a jam made from strawberries, raspberries, and a hint of rhubarb washed down with honeyed milk. The milk was thick and sweet and hung most welcome on Peter’s tongue, but never so sweet as the kiss he stole from Stiles the moment he noticed Talia entering the hall.

Talia strode to where they were sitting. “If you’re done with your meal, come with me,” she said to Stiles, her shrewd glare piercing through them both. It amused Peter, but angered Stiles.

“I’ll join you in a moment,” he replied. “Peter is still eating.”

“I’m certain he doesn’t need your help, Stiles,” Talia sneered. “Say your goodbyes. You have a busy day today. I expect to see you in my office before the bells chime nine.” She turned on her heel and walked away, the sound of her sandals against the stone floor echoing loudly in the hall.

Stiles kissed Peter again. “I get the feeling that your sister does not like me for you…”

His observation made Peter laugh heartily. “Oh my love… It is quite the opposite. It’s me she dislikes for _you_. She wants to personally oversee your training while you’re here. She thinks my influence on you is too great.”

“But you are a follower of The Shepherd. Shouldn’t you teach me?” Stiles asked.

“I’m actually the Acolyte of The Shepherd. I’m the highest member of our order and it _is_ my job to teach you. But she is the Acolyte of The Confessor. She outranks me. What Talia says goes… but then again, it has always been that way between me and my sister. You’ll find that her demeanor toward you will be much warmer so long as I am far away. Just do as she says and we can leave this place and the Silverkeep will be yours,” Peter said, stroking Stiles’ mud-brown hair. He placed a kiss on Stiles’ forehead before getting up to leave, telling Stiles to do the same.

Stiles made no haste in his trek to Talia’s office. Several minutes had passed from the nine bells when Stiles finally opened the door, but despite her warning, Talia greeted him warmly.

“We’ve been looking forward to your arrival here at the Stormfort Citadel, Stiles,” she said. “Admittedly, we expected you here several years sooner.”

“A Lord arrives exactly when he pleases,” Stiles said brusquely. “Not a moment sooner.”

Talia smiled. “I guess I deserved that. I’m here to help you, Stiles. I don’t know what my brother told you but—”

“I will tell you what I told him,” Stiles interrupted. “I don’t give one shit about your gods. I don’t give one shit about the gods I was raised with. But I love him. He’s the only one I have ever been able to rely on. He’s the only one who has ever looked out for my best interests. I’m here to learn what I need to learn and then I’m taking the Crimson Throne.”

“I don’t intend to stop you from doing just that,” Talia said. “I just intend to ensure that Peter has no way to keep you from your destiny.”

“Who are you to decide my destiny?” Stiles demanded.

“Your destiny was decided long ago, Stiles,” Talia said, opening her prophecy book. “Prophecy states that you’ll gain your throne and unite the various kingdoms and eradicate the persecution of magic.”

“And what makes you think that Peter would keep me from that?” Stiles asked. “He’s the one who proposed I take the Crimson Throne in the Silverkeep.”

“It’s true that you’ll have a great and powerful sorcerer on your side when you accomplish this task… but it’s not Peter,” Talia said. “And I can’t give you any more information. I’m sorry.”

“Without Peter, how am I supposed to use my magic?” Stiles asked. “In case you forgot, I was abducted and manacled by two servants. I fully intend on finding them and killing them, just so you know.”

Talia retrieved the box containing the enchanted collar and placed it in front of Stiles. “This will permit you free use of your magic.”

Stiles pushed it back toward Talia. “I refuse to wear another collar.”

“It is a gift from the Acolytes of the Citadel. It negates the magic of the manacles, Stiles. It frees you,” Talia insisted, sliding it back across the table.

“A collar is never a gift to the one who wears it. The collar reminds the dog who owns it and forces the cattle to toil harder. I will never wear a collar again,” Stiles said again picking up the collar and throwing it at Talia who caught it before it hit her face.

“If you don’t fulfil your destiny, then all magic of your order will be lost,” Talia said.

“I don’t believe you,” Stiles said.

“I’m the Acolyte of the Confessor. Finding and conveying the truth is my job,” Talia replied, taking great pains to remain calm.

“I won’t wear a collar, and to be quite honest, I don’t trust you. I’m sorry… but you’re trying to tear me away from the only person in the world who I love,” Stiles said. “I just want to learn what Peter needed to teach me and then take my throne.”

“I understand,” Talia replied, much to Stiles’ surprise. “You’re dismissed.”

“Thank you,” Stiles said before walking out to find Peter and begin his lessons.

Talia raised her hands and in a burst of light she had vanished.

* * *

Peter was brushing the coat of his horse when Talia appeared in front of him holding the collar. “You say you care about him… how about we come to an arrangement that could make both of us happy,” she said as she handed the collar to her brother.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed the chapter! Please leave feedback!


	3. Storming the Silverkeep

It took Stiles only a few days to know the castle inside and out. He became so adept at finding his way through it without being seen, that he considered the possibility that he might be invisible. As he learned the secrets of the castle, he also learned the secrets of his order.

In the center of the castle's immense library was a shelf with only seven books. On the spine of each book was a different symbol. One was the Triskele marking that was on his and Peter's wrists. There was one with a similar-looking mark, but instead of rounded spirals, they were more jagged. There was one with a circle surrounding a large dot, and several more still. He tried reading all of them, but he found that words would only appear on the book that held his marking.

As he sat thumbing through the history of his order, he became engrossed, losing all track of time. A young man with dark hair, tanned skin, and a crooked jaw sat next to him, passing him a loaf of bread and an apple. "You've been here all day. I figured you could use some food."

"Oh… thanks!" Stiles replied, finally looking up from his book. "I was just learning my history."

"You're of The Shepherd's Order?" the young man asked. Stiles nodded. "You're the one who came here with Lord Hale."

It felt so foreign to hear Peter referred to as "Lord Hale". "Peter is my lover," Stiles replied, causing Scott to tense.

"Are you sure that's wise?" he asked.

"What do you mean?"

"There's been a prophecy about you and Peter since the time of the Old King," the young man said. "Everyone here knows of it… even if we can't read it."

Stiles was still confused. "What are you talking about?"

"I'm of The Healer's Order. My mom is our Acolyte. She told me that there's this book that only the Acolytes are allowed to read that contains all of the prophecies that have ever been made. She said that there's a prophecy about The Young Shepherd being betrayed by the Older," he said.

Stiles became wary of him and even scooted further down the bench to get away from him. "Who are you? Did Talia send you?"

"My name is Scott," the boy said. "Scott McCall. And I swear that Lady Talia didn't send me."

"How do you know the prophecy is about me and Peter?" Stiles asked.

"You're the only two of your order to be born in 300 years," Scott said. "Didn't he tell you that?"

Stiles' eyes moved back to the book. "No…" he said.  _What else hasn't he told me?_

"These books are enchanted. They'll tell you everything you need to know about your Order… they update themselves automatically," Scott said. "Everything that any member of your order has ever done is in that book."

"Thank you," Stiles replied.

He returned to his reading, learning the majority of the history of his order in the first day. He brought the book back to his chambers, not pulling himself away from it even when Peter greeted him. "You're almost ready for the Crimson Throne," he said. When Stiles didn't acknowledge him, he asked, "What are you reading?"

"It's the book of our Order," Stiles said. He noticed how Peter tensed. "It's fascinating, really. There are all sorts of spells and stuff that only people from our Order can perform. Also… did you know that we are the only two of our Order to be born in the last three centuries?"

"I did," Peter replied stiffly.

Stiles let the book fall onto the bed. "Did you also know about a prophecy regarding us?"

"I was trying to protect you," Peter replied.

"From you?" Stiles asked.

"There are things you don't know about magic… things that you're not ready for," Peter said.

"Why don't we skip all of this and you just tell me what you're hiding," Stiles said coldly.

"Talia gave me the collar she wanted to you to wear and told me to find a way to get it on you," Peter said.

"You know what collars represent to me," Stiles said.

"Which is why I didn't do it!" Peter insisted.

Stiles stared at him. He didn't believe Peter. He wasn't sure why, though. "I can't stay in here with you," he said.

"Stiles, please!" Peter begged.

"What else haven't you told me, Peter? How can I trust you?" Stiles forced away the tears that were welling up. This revelation was forcing him to reexamine his entire time with Peter.

"I love you, Stiles. You have to at least trust that," Peter said.

"I don't know, Peter… How am I supposed to trust you?"

"I'll earn your trust back, Stiles… I swear it by all the gods," Peter said. "But we need to get out of this castle."

It was the wrong thing to say. "So you can keep me from discovering what else you've kept from me?"

"Stiles no!" Peter said. "Please don't believe that of me."

"What would you have me believe, then?" Stiles demanded. "Try to look at this as I am."

Peter  _did_  try, and he understood why Stiles was so upset. "I'll tell you everything you want to know, Stiles… but we  _have_  to get to the Silverkeep."

Stiles crossed his arms and planted his feet. "Why?"

"Because if we don't get there soon, then the entire plan to put you on the throne is ruined because he'll have already chosen a new apothecary," Peter said.

"Fine," Stiles said, dropping his arms to his side. "Then we'll leave in the morning. But if I ever find out that you had another reason for taking me from this castle, Peter, I swear you'll never see me again. I'm tired of being lied to and manipulated… especially by the only person I've ever loved."

The next day, they broke their fast in the Great Hall. Scott seemed to sense something was amiss and approached them. "Hey Stiles… can I talk to you for a moment?"

Stiles excused himself from the table and walked off with Scott. "What is it?"

"I stopped by your room earlier. I found a book of spells I thought you'd enjoy, but your things were packed," he said.

"Peter and I are going to the Silverkeep," Stiles said.

"I've always wanted to go to the Silverkeep!" Scott replied. "Can I travel with you? Followers of The Healer are supposed to travel and try to help mend the people. I could go with you and after I'm done at the Silverkeep, I could travel on my own!"

Stiles weighed the advantage of having Scott join. He specialized in healing magic and would be a second set of eyes to watch Peter's actions. "Certainly! The House of Argent has caused quite a bit of pain and suffering in their kingdom. They could use a Healer."

They both walked toward the table where Peter was still eating. Scott sat down next to them. "You should finish your meal. We have to leave soon. I've already arranged for our horses to be ready," Peter said.

"Scott will be leaving with us," Stiles announced, his voice holding a finality that told Peter not to argue.

They all finished eating and headed to the stables. Stiles' and Peter's belongings were already packed. It didn't take long for Scott's horse to be ready. They rode to the portcullis, gaining in speed, but as soon as Stiles' horse reached the outer part of the castle, he was thrown off by some magical barrier.

"Peter!" he cried as he hit the ground with a painful thud. Scott immediately caught Stiles' horse as Peter went back for him. Stiles tried to walk through, but again was knocked back. "There's something preventing me from leaving!"

Peter snarled, "This has Talia written all over it."

People began to gather in the courtyard. Several Acolytes joined in their long robes before Talia finally appeared, holding the collar. "Peter, did you think that you could just spirit him off without me knowing?"

"Let me leave," Stiles said imperiously.

"You're free to leave whenever you'd like," Talia said, smiling pleasantly. "So long as you wear this collar."

"No!" Stiles begged. "Please!"

"Talia, I've never known you to be so cruel," Peter said. He then decided to sway the other Acolytes against her. "Talia wishes to collar a man who manacled and collared as a child. He was sold from king to king and raped. Is this just to make him relive this?"

When Satomi was the first to speak, Peter's heart leapt. The wise Acolyte followed The Storm. "Talia, think of the pain you would put him through by forcing him to wear that collar!" she said.

"But think of the harm that will come by him not wearing the collar!" she replied. "He has a destiny. To fulfil it he needs free use of his magic."

"Then do it another way!" Melissa McCall, the Acolyte of The Healer spoke up. "Give him his magic without giving him a collar."

"He wears the manacles! There's no other way!" Talia said defensively.

"We are in one of the most powerfully magical sites in the world with some of the most powerfully magical people. Surely we can find a way to give him his magic without forcing him to wear another collar!" Satomi insisted. She turned to Stiles. "Would you be willing to wear it if we made it look like something else? A necklace?"

"We could make it look like a crown," Peter suggested to Stiles, eternally grateful to Satomi for the suggestion. "And remember… it's just until we learn how to get the manacles off."

"No matter what shape it takes, it will always be a collar! It will always be a reminder that I owe my magic to other people!" Stiles protested.

"But you already do, Stiles!" said Alan Deaton, the Acolyte of The Mountain. "And your magic will never be as powerful if you keep doing it that way." He turned to the Acolyte of The Confessor. "It is our job as Acolytes to make decisions that would be for the betterment of the world. That's why the gods entrusted us with this gift. But to imprison him here? That is an affront to everything we stand for, Talia."

"I'm the only one of my kind, Alan! And it's my job to act as a leader of all the Orders," she said.

Stiles could practically feel the rage coming off of Peter. "No!" he barked. "It's not! The Shepherd was the leader of the Orders until we went centuries without one being born. You should be answering to me and not the other way around, Talia!"

"How can you be our leader when you've been gone having sex with your charge for who knows how long?" Talia said. "So forgive me if my faith in you as a leader is rocky at best."

"Listen to you two!" Satomi shouted above them. Her voice seemed to thunder, making silence sweep across the courtyard. "Neither of you should lead us if this is how you will act!" She used her magic to summon the collar from Talia's hands. She and Deaton used their combined powers to transform it into a crown. "Stiles, I want you to have your freedom, but I also want you to have your magic. But it should be your choice." She approached him slowly, offering it to him.

The moment his hands touched it, he felt a rush in power unlike any he'd ever felt. It was invigorating. "Thank you," he said humbly.

"Just holding it will let you pass through the barrier. Do what you want with it after. Just know that while you may have a destiny, it must always be one that you choose," she said.

Stiles smiled at her. "But is what Talia said true? If I don't do whatever it is I'm supposed to do, magic could be no more?"

"I have faith that it will somehow work out, Stiles," she said.

"Thank you," Stiles said softly before turning and joining Peter and Scott. He placed the crown in the bag carrying his belongings. The drop in power that came with him no longer touching it made him feel fatigued.

* * *

As they travelled, Stiles and Scott spent most of their time talking while Peter navigated them the quickest route to the Silverkeep. Occasionally when weather kept them from travelling further, Stiles put the crown on and practiced with the full force of his magic. Having been born and raised in the Stormfort Citadel, he had questions about the world outside its borders.

"You were raised with only three gods?" he asked. "That's weird."

"The Communion of the Three Divines is a much easier to understand religion than the one you have!" Stiles replied. "We have the Father who gives us discipline and strength. There's the Mother who guides us through life with her love, wisdom, and compassion. And then there's the Infant who protects the innocent, the infirm, and the feeble."

"But where's the magic?" Scott asked. "Don't they give their followers something?"

"Besides the comfort that comes in knowing they are watching over you?" Stiles replied. "Not really."

"Where do you worship?"

"Throughout the lands are three-sided temples we call 'Trions,'" Stiles explained.

"Fascinating…" Scott replied, still obviously confused by it all when they heard the sounds of a whimpering puppy.

All three of them stopped. Stiles dismounted and strayed off the road into the woods that surrounded it. "Stiles! There could be bandits or outlaws!" Peter warned, conjuring a fireball he could aim at a possible assailant.

Stiles searched around the brush as the whimpering and yelping became louder until he found the source of the noise. It was a black wolf puppy whose leg seemed to be broken by a hunter's trap. The puppy's eyes looked up at him pleading. Its eyes were a hauntingly bright blue. It looked scared. As Stiles approached it growled, but Stiles knew it was just a bluff. "It's alright," he said to it. "I'm going to help you." Stiles pulled the crown Talia had given him out of a pocket in his large cloak and placed it on his head. He felt his magic course through him. "Peter, help me get him out of it."

Peter placed his hands on the metal trap and told Stiles to do the same. "I want you to focus your magic to your hand and imagine the trap rusting away to nothing." Stiles closed his eyes and attempted to imagine what Peter had instructed him to. He felt the metal begin to recede as thousands of years of rust and exposure wasted it away into coarse red dust in the matter of mere seconds. As he felt the rust slip through his fingers, Stiles opened his eyes, looking at the mangled ruins of the wolf pup's leg.

"I can help with that," Scott offered. As he approached, the puppy snapped at him. Stiles put his hand on the pup's head.

"He's just trying to help," Stiles said. "Quiet!" He felt a cold tingle in his fingers where they made contact with the puppy's fur. The whimpering and growling stopped immediately. He looked up into Peter's eyes. He had no sooner opened his mouth to ask if he had just used The Shepherd's Magic than Peter nodded to confirm that indeed, he had.

Scott was busy muttering spells and incantations as his hands glowed brightly. The torn and mangled flesh on the pup's leg seemed to sew itself back together. The dried blood disappeared and soon, it was as if the pup had never been caught in the trap. The puppy walked tentatively, as if it were unsure the leg was really healed. However, upon seeing how easy it was to walk, he jumped up on Stiles' leg, his tong lolling comically from the side of its snout.

"He's taken a liking to you," Peter said.

"I think I'll keep him," Stiles replied, picking him up.

"What will you name him?" Scott asked.

Stiles thought for a moment before saying, "Shadow."

Shadow followed them on foot mostly, though occasionally when Stiles noticed he was starting to lag behind, he would stop and bring the pup up to ride with him. He could sense that his horse wasn't fond of the idea of carrying a wolf, but Stiles used The Shepherd's magic to ensure that the horse didn't rear back and throw either of them off.

When they came to a split in the road, Stiles suddenly knew where they were, having previously relied solely on Peter for navigating the terrain. One sign pointed left and read "Redwind Path" and the sign pointing to the right said "Road of Harmony". Stiles felt his stomach tighten. Redwind Path would take them to the village that he and Peter used to live in and the Road of Harmony would bring them to the Silverkeep.

They spurred their horses to the right and soon, the Silverkeep could be seen in the distance. Stiles kept his eyes focused on the castle gleaming in the sun. It kept him from looking at the grotesque decorations at the side of the road. The Argents lined the entirety of the Road of Harmony with tall, sharp stakes. At this point in the road, there were just bones at the base of each stake, but he knew that there were bodies up ahead. Shadow seemed to smell them and shivered nervously in his lap.

Gerard Argent, the king of the Silverkeep was known by a few names in the private whispers in pubs and houses. "Gerard the Ghastly" and "Argent the Arse" were the two most popular. Anybody who was heard speaking against him found themselves impaled on one of the thousands of stakes that lined the Road of Harmony and left until enough of their body had rotted or been eaten by crows and vultures that they fell to the bottom, where the bones collected. The oldest of the stakes had so many bones at the base that they had formed what was becoming known as the Bone Barrier leading up to the portcullis.

Like Shadow, Stiles, Scott, and Peter all smelled the first body before they saw it. Stiles covered his nose and fought back the urge to wretch. Scott stared at the corpse whose eyes had been plucked out by a bird. His lips trembled. "He's a monster!" he whispered.

"That is why we are removing him," Peter said. "Back when magic was practiced openly before the disappearance of the Old King, the Acolyte of The Shepherd was the leader of all magical orders. The Acolyte disappeared when the Old King did and the Acolyte of the Confessor had to fill the void. It was our Order's job to ensure that kings did not become tyrants. We used our powers to protect the small folk."

"I still don't even know how to use The Shepherd's Magic on people," Stiles replied. "I've only ever used it on Shadow and the horse."

"You've always used your magic instinctually," Peter said. "When the time comes, I know you'll do what you need to."

"I wish I could help these people," Scott said softly.

"Magic cannot bring back the dead," Peter reminded him.

"It can avenge them, though," Stiles replied.

They gained access to the Silverkeep easily enough. The guard was gruff and quick to rebuke them for not showing up sooner to the summons for apothecaries and threatened to escort them to the dungeon instead of the hall. Shadow growled and Peter grabbed the guard. After a few moments, the guard was under his control. "Stiles, I want you to put on your crown and draw your cowl up," Peter said.

They made their way through the Keep to the throne room. Shadow stayed close to Stiles' side. King Gerard looked different than Stiles imagined. He was short and toad-like. His voice was low, and always barely above a whisper and yet it seemed to fill the large throne room as he sentenced people to die for minor infractions.

Once they were at the head of the line, a herald announced their purpose for being there.

"I sent out that summons a moon ago," Gerard said impatiently.

"I apologize, Your Highness," Peter replied. "We were held up by weather."

"What's wrong with that one?" Gerard asked, pointing at Stiles. "And why has he brought a mongrel into my presence?"

"There is nothing wrong with me," Stiles replied. Shadow bared his teeth.

"You will show me the respect I deserve!" he demanded.

Stiles pulled down the cowl, revealing the crown he was wearing. "You deserve none!" he said. A hush fell over the court.

"This is treason!" Gerard shouted. "Nobody should wear a crown except the Royal family!"

"You have lost the right to rule!" Stiles shouted back. Peter stepped backwards as he saw a fire burning in his lover's eye that scared even him. "The King is supposed to protect his people, yet I walked past hundreds of people who were sentenced unfairly to death by a cruel and prolonged method and walked past the bones of many thousands more who were killed by you and your ancestors and I swear I will make you pay for each life!"

Gerard laughed a high breathy laugh that sent chills down Stiles' spine. "A life for a life, isn't that the rule?" He didn't wait for Stiles to answer. "How am I to repay thousands of lives when I have but one?"

"Then you will thank me seeing as I'm offering you quite a bargain!" Stiles spat angrily. Members of Gerard's Guard and Stiles' raised his hand to the air. "Go no further!" The men all stopped in their tracks. Stiles felt an icy chill go down his spine. He knew that he must have used The Shepherd's Magic. He remembered a spell from the book of his Order. The incantation was simple, so he focused his mind and whispered the words. "Shepherd light my way and protect my path." Longswords made of bright white light appeared out of nowhere.

"Are those the Swords of the Shepherd?" Scott asked and Peter nodded.

The spell was one that only his order could perform and the number of swords that appeared depended on how powerful the wizard who cast it was. At the most, Peter had only ever been able to conjure twenty. He counted at least fifty from Stiles.

Many of the guards stopped their approach, leaving the Captain and Gerard to shout "Cravens!" at them. Stiles dared them to approach him. The first one who was stupid enough to take his dare found himself sliced in half by one of the magical blades. The rest of them moved to the throats of those who would harm Stiles.

"If I could kill you and resurrect you a thousand times, I would. I could torture you for what you've done, but that would make me no better than you," Stiles said, stepping toward Gerard, who finally stood.

"How noble of you to challenge an old man and use magic to boot," Gerard said softly.

"And how noble of you to sentence poor people to die because you've taxed them out of any ability to live and then punish them for being poor!" The contempt dripping from his voice seemed to embolden Shadow who barked. Stiles swallowed a smile since he was certain that the wolf had tried to be frightening. "But I'm not without honor. I'll give you until daybreak tomorrow to give me the castle and go into exile. After that, I'll take it by force."

"You and your merry band against my entire army?" Gerard scoffed. "I shall see you at daybreak."

The next morning came with Stiles having not slept. Shadow nibbled playfully at his fingers as Peter got up to meet him. They had found shelter at an inn and Peter and Scott placed several layers of magical protection to ensure that they weren't killed in their sleep by Gerard's men.

Peter was the next to wake. He quietly joined Stiles by the window. "I've never seen you so simultaneously sexy and frightening as I did yesterday."

"What Gerard has done deserves no mercy," Stiles said as he stroked Shadow's fur.

"Do you have a plan for what you're going to do once you take out Gerard?" Peter asked.

"Yes," Stiles said. "I'll take the remaining guards under the The Shepherd's Magic until we can replace them with decent people. Then I'm going to summon the High Lords and deal with them."

"I'm proud of you, Stiles," Peter said, placing a kiss on the side of Stiles' face.

They roused Scott and headed back to the castle. Guards met them at the door, but rather than arresting them, Stiles and Peter brought them under their control. When Gerard saw them escorting Stiles to the throne room, he was furious.

"What are you doing?" he shouted. "Arrest them!"

They stood defiantly beside Stiles, whose crown was reflecting the dawn light coming in from the hall's clerestory, casting a faint glow around him. "Do you yield your castle, crown and kingdom?" Stiles asked simply.

"Never!" Gerard hissed. His soft voice carried through the hall as loudly as his shouts.

"Then let it never be said that I did not give you the opportunity to do the right thing by your people," Stiles replied, raising his hand. Gerard rose up in the air. "Then Gerard of House Argent, third of your name and King of Hollingsbeck, Wolfshore, The Silverkeep, and the Beacon Summits, as a Wizard of The Shepherd's Order, I sentence you to death for the many crimes you have committed against your own people," Stiles said grimly. Shadow hid behind Stiles' legs as he cast a powerful bolt of lightning from his other hand. Gerard's limbs twitched and the smell of burned flesh filled the throne hall. Scott and Peter watched Stiles, their mouths open, though Stiles was unsure if it was due to shock or disgust. When Stiles was certain the king was dead, he lowered his hand and Gerard's corpse fell with a sickening thump. Stiles crossed the hall, making it a point to step over Gerard's body as he made his way to the throne. Lords, Ladies, and other servants of the castle watched in shock as Stiles sat down, his crown glinting as before.

Peter was the first to lead the call of "All hail King Stiles" followed by "Long live the King!"

* * *

Stiles wasted no time upon taking the throne. He ordered that all laws enacted under the Argents' reign be complied and brought to him for review, vowing to repeal any that he deemed unfair or unjust. He suspended all executions pending his own review of the circumstances around them and vowed the Crown would attempt to make right any unjust fines and fees assessed to all citizens of the kingdoms.

He issued a summons to all of the Great Lords of the realm and before the day was over, people in the city outside the castle were beginning to refer to him as "King Stiles the Savior."

Scott had been busy that day using The Healer's Magic to regrow limbs of those who had them unfairly chopped off, and healing all those ravaged by Gerard's brutality.

As he grew tired, Stiles headed to the King's Chamber, followed closely by Peter and Shadow. Stiles stripped his clothes off, setting the crown aside. He felt his magic leave immediately. It felt akin to being held under water. "I'm so proud of you, Your Grace," Peter said, joining his lover in his nakedness and embracing him from behind, leaving a trail of soft kisses from the base of Stiles' left ear down his neck and onto his shoulder.

"Please don't call me that," Stiles said as he felt Peter stiffening against his ass.

"But you're my King now," Peter replied. "And I only wish to serve…"

Stiles felt his cock stir at the breathy erotic way in which Peter was speaking. "Aye," Stiles gasped as he felt Peter's hands stroking him. He was already leaking precum and hadn't felt release since the night they had sucked each other off in the Stormfort. "Then serve," he said as he removed Peter's hand. He was already so close to coming. He brought Peter's fingers up to his lips and sucked them clean of his dripping fluid.

Peter sank to his knees, placing his face between the gorgeous globes of Stiles' ass. His lover needed a bath, that was true, but still Peter didn't mind as he licked and prodded the hole with tongue and finger, causing Stiles to lean forward onto the bed to support himself. He continued pleasuring his young lover like that until he heard Stiles beg. "Take me… now… Take me like this."

"Do you wish to lie on your back?" Peter asked, knowing the rules that Stiles had always insisted upon.

Stiles shook his head. "No," he replied. "But if you don't get your cock into me right now, by the gods, I will find someone who will."

"As you command, my King," Peter teased. He loved it when Stiles was in this mood. He stroked his own cock a few times before guiding it inside Stiles. Both men gasped as he passed the outer ring. Stiles' ass was squeezing tightly around him as he slowly worked himself all the way into his young lover. At Stiles' request, Peter began furiously thrusting in and out of the tight hole, doing his best to stave off his impending orgasm. When he could no longer, he pulled out. "Where do you want me to come, my love?" he asked.

"Inside," was all Stiles was able to say between his pants of air so Peter pushed back in, pumped a few more times and spilled his seed inside his lover. Stiles savored the sensation of being filled by Peter, but after a while, his legs and back were cramping so he pulled off and turned to face him. Peter hadn't shaved and his face was covered in a stubble that Stiles found incredibly sexy. With a surprising show of force, he spun them and pushed Peter onto his back on the large coverlet. The fabric was fine silk stuffed with goose down and felt amazing on Peter's skin as Stiles climbed atop him and continued kissing his lips, chin, neck, and chest. He sucked on Peter's nipples. They were hard, but Stiles was uncertain if it was because of what they were doing or because of the coldness of the room, which he was starting to notice despite the layer of sweat that made them both glisten in the candle light.

Stiles moved from one nipple to the other as his hand ventured down between Peter's open legs and a finger slipped into his lover. Peter tensed at first, but then moaned as Stiles started fucking him with it and added another. "Do you wish to fuck me as I've so often fucked you?" Peter asked and Stiles nodded. "Then go ahead."

"What if it's not good for you?" Stiles asked. He had never done that before and was uncertain that he would have any skill.

"You'll be getting pleasure from my body," Peter replied. "That is all I need. I'll probably come again when I feel you release inside me."

Emboldened by Peter's encouraging words, Stiles lifted his legs onto his shoulders and Peter reached down, helping to guide him into the warm, tight hole. It felt amazing, but also strange. Peter winced a few times, but continued encouraging Stiles to go further and when he was all the way inside, Peter talked him through the process until he was slamming into Peter as hard as Peter had been slamming into him only minutes before. It didn't take him long before he felt the tightness in his balls and the contraction of seemingly every muscle in his body before he spilled his seed inside Peter and collapsed on top of him, still buried within the tight confines of his hole.

When his breathing had mellowed, he asked Peter if that was the first time a man had ever fucked him. "No," Peter replied. "When I was young, I used to train with the Master at Arms of the Stormfort. He was a handsome man and, admittedly, I was a bit taken with him. On my 16th name day, I had practiced with him like every other day. We began a rather suggestive conversation about swords and their scabbards and I became the scabbard for his sword for several years until he died in battle."

"He didn't force you, did he?" Stiles asked.

"Oh no. Nothing of the sort, actually. And I think I might have worn him out at times. But he was how I learned the limitation of The Shepherd's Magic. He would have done anything for me, so my power couldn't force him against his will. After he died, I took several lovers, both men and women but I never let the men take their pleasure from me. I only wanted to let certain men do that to me."

"I'm glad I'm one of them," Stiles said softly. "I'm sorry for how I treated you at the Stormfort."

"I've already forgiven you," Peter replied.

They kissed and cuddled for a while before Stiles climbed atop Peter and rode him one more time before they were both too exhausted to do anything but sleep. Shadow jumped onto the bed and slept at the foot.

That night as he dreamed the same dream he always had, the conversation with the sexy chained man went differently.

"You're almost ready, Stiles," he said. "There is just one truth you must learn before you can free me."

"What is it?" Stiles asked.

"You must learn the name of the eighth god because only invoking them all will free me," he explained, but Stiles was no less confused than he had been before.

"But there are only seven gods in the Old Faith," Stiles countered, but was roused from sleep by Shadow who was licking his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Let me know what you thought!

**Author's Note:**

> Alright. I've been doing a lot of attempts at worldbuilding this story, but if you have any questions and the answers won't spoil the intended plotline, I'll answer them in the comments. It's based on a dream I had. Let me know what you think!


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